Second Chances
by Amphithea
Summary: Warren, Jonathan, and Andrew find themselves able to reflect on their lives leading up to the events of season 6 and are given a second chance at life. Anything written in the first person is Warren's POV
1. Default Chapter

Author's Notes: This fic will contain the following- Warren Ressurection/Redemption, Jonathan Ressurection, occasional negative views on popular subjects such as Willow, Spike as a tormented Angel wannabe (not Spike himself, just this latest incarnation), and Willow/Kennedy, it will also contain some Warren/Andrew, Warren/Katrina, and the absolute worst sin of all....an original character (read:blatant fantasy fulfilling Mary Sueism...yes I'm arrogant enough to think I can do it well). There may be more warnings needed as we progress, but that covers the basics. 

Also contains violence, strong language, and adult content. 

Oh, and sadly, none of these character belong to me, nor am I making a profit off of them. 

Prologue

They say that before you die your life flashes before your eyes. I don't know about that. I do know that you get this new hazy kinda clarity, though. Sort of like everything in your life that you've fucked up suddenly makes sense and at the same time nothing makes sense. Knowing you're going to die is knowing every single step you've taken to get to that point and knowing that it's too late to get out of it. And you know, maybe it sounds selfish, but when someone's out to kill you all that really matters is saving yourself.

  
Because it's too late to save her. You killed her after all. Oh, sure it was an accident, but it happened anyway. And you tell me, what would you do if one moment you suddenly found your hands stained with the blood of the one person that made this world worthwhile? And it was just a fucking accident. So what comes after that? After you've lost your reason for being? It was all for her, anyway. Maybe it wasn't the right way to go about things, but she'd never have come back to me, no matter how much I loved her. No, I was the one at fault because, well why? Because I'd left my own creation in order to be with her? She wouldn't even talk about it. She didn't even try to understand. It wasn't as if I'd made her while we were together. I'd just been lonely before I met her. But she didn't care about how I had felt. How I'd been kicked around my whole fucking life. It was all about her. Stupid bitch. She really did deserve it anyway. I should have known she was going to be the death of me. Because I killed her. How ironic. 

  
You know another thing about death? And here I'm going to get specific because most people aren't tortured to death by magical lesbians, but it's something I think I ought to point out anyway. It hurts. It hurts a whole fucking lot. You know, I've heard things about people shutting down and not thinking about the pain. You know what? It's bullshit. And if you had someone driving a bullet into you in slow motion, you'd beg for your life too. You'd do whatever it takes to make the pain stop.   
That's all I wanted. I just wanted the pain to stop. They're all the same though. Just kick you when you're already down. Cause more pain when all you want is a way out. When you're so lost and confused and you just want someone else to know how it hurts. You want to make them hurt, make them feel it. How else could they understand? It doesn't even matter who. They all needed to feel what I felt. Did it work though? Maybe, but none of them could really understand. No, because they're so much better than I am. I'm just that creepy kid that everyone ignored. For chrissakes, I think Jonathan was more popular than I ever was and they never even accepted him. Willow and Xander...I hear they used to be nice, though imagining this psycho-bitch as ever being nice is pretty fucking hard right now. Then I'm sure Buffy came along. Their Slayer. Their bodyguard. I'm sure that's when they started to think that they were so much better than everyone else because they had a nice peice of ass to follow around like lost little puppy dogs.

  
God, it hurt so fucking bad, I would have offered to build that bitch a whole fucking harem of mousy girlfriends, but I couldn't even say that because she'd sewn my mouth shut. A thousand thoughts were racing through my head, none of which I could voice. I thought about how sorry I was. How sorry I was for what I'd done to April. How sorry I was for what I'd done to Katrina. I really did love her. She didn't deserve it, she deserved better than me. She should have had someone better than me. I should have given her that chance. I was sorry for trying to kill Buffy, for believing in my own stupid games because I had nothing left for me in reality. I was even sorry for what I'd done to Willow. For what I'd turned her into. For what I'd taken out of her life. I was sorry because I'd finally gotten someone to feel the pain that I felt. I was sorry because I'd pushed someone to that same edge that I'd been pushed to and now I was paying for it. I never meant for it to happen this way. If I could take it all back I would. I really would. She let me speak and I try. I try to tell her everything that I've realized, I try to tell her that I'm sorry. I just want another chance. One more chance.

  
She never let me finish.


	2. The Therapeutic Uses of Cocoa

Author's Note: Please see the prologue for disclaimer-y goodness

Chapter One-The Therapeutic Uses of Cocoa

The floor of Buffy Summers living room did not make an adequate bed. Andrew Wells had decided this a while ago, but had learned quickly that nothing he said would change the fact that that was to be his designated sleeping space. The Slayers in Training had, at the very least, sleeping bags and pillows. Andrew had only recently attained even these and only because Xander was demoted to the floor beside him. Restless, Andrew grunted and rolled over, noticing the latest twig-like addition to the group sprawled across the couch where Xander used to sleep. Three others were curled up in sleping bags on the other side of the room. He knew that a fourth slept up in Willow's room. Surrounded by all these girls, a year ago he would have found himself in heaven.

  
Now, however, he was little more than bored. He never imagined that living on the Hellmouth during a pending apocalypse could be boring, but this was turning out to be about as interesting as the Blair Witch Project. He thought that being a part of Buffy's gang would be more fun. He had, of course, also assumed that they would be more ready to accept him as a member. After all, they didn't seem to be overly choosy about who they let in. Willow had literally skinned his best friend and they still let her stick around. It was probably because that new girl, Kennedy was in love with her. At least, that was the most reasonable explanation Andrew could figure out. It seemed fairly obvious. Maybe not to everyone else, but he hadn't spent years collaborating with Warren and Jonathan on Janeway/Seven fics for nothing. He could spot slashiness from a mile away. Jonathan was always a little better at it than he was, though. He wrote all the touchy-feely stuff. Andrew liked to get to the nakedness as quickly as possible. They both, in the end, had agreed that it was a cop-out to pair her with Chakotay. Warren rarely gave them input on the stories, but then again who could blame him? He'd had a real girl at the time. Well, Andrew thought, a real robot girl anyway. Which was more than he'd ever had.

  
It was times like these that Andrew found himself missing his friends the most. Lying on the floor awake at night, he'd think about the fun they'd used to have. It was mostly times before they'd decided to join Warren in his plans to take over Sunnydale. In retrospect, Andrew mused, that was probably not one of their better plans. It was even worse than when they'd decided to camp out all night outside the theater to be the first to see Episode One. At least they all lived through that one.   
Well, barely.

  
Andrew gave up on trying to get to sleep and sat up. He wondered briefly if Willow would object to him using her laptop to look up porn but eventually decided against it. He then entertained the thought of searching through the house for an instrument of some kind, running through his mental rolodex of demons he knew how to summon. There wasn't much point in doing that either, though, as it would most likely just piss off the people he was living with. Probably even more than he usually did. Magic in general did seem like a good way to pass the time, though. If not good, then at least interesting.

  
The only problem he found was that most of the magic books in the house were in Willow's room. The thought of her waking to find him snooping through her bookshelves thouroughly terified him. He had seen what she was capable of and he was pretty sure that it pissed girls off to look through their personal things. He scanned the living room, searching for something slightly less fatal that he could poke his nose into. He needed something to keep himself occupied after all. It wasn't his fault that living with the Slayer happened to be insanely boring. 

  
Andrew quietly got to his feet, being careful not to disturb Xander, and wandered casually across the living room. He made his way into the kitchen and began to look through the cabinets. If he happened to come across some kind of snack food, that would be almost as good as finding a cure for boredom. He wasn't usually allowed to eat very much. Typically, back when he'd still been tied to the chair, Willow or Dawn would bring him some leftovers from dinner out of pity. Recently he'd been allowed to have access to some of the food, but it was usually accompanied by dirty looks from whomever happened to be around at the time.

  
It really wasn't fair, he thought. After all, weren't they supposed to be the good guys? Good guys don't starve people. Then again good guys usually didn't flay people alive either. He shuddered. He'd imagined it happening in a thousand different ways since he'd heard. He imagined Warren running for his life, caught mid-stride, flesh ripped from bone. He imagined him strong and silent, facing Willow bravely as she tore into him. He imagined him pleading for forgiveness, explaining that it had all been an accident, that no one was ever meant to get hurt. And she had killed him brutally anyway. He didn't want to keep getting these images, but he couldn't stop them either. He could never even truly know how Warren had died, but he relived it every night anyway. 

  
He needed cocoa. Cocoa made him feel better generally. Silently, Andrew scoured the cabinets for cocoa mix and found some. It even had the little marshmallows in it. He opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk. His father had always yelled at him for using milk when he made cocoa. He had claimed that it was fattening or something. It didn't really matter what the reason was, it was really just his father's way of telling him what a waste he thought his son was. So of course, Tucker always used milk and their father never said a word about it to him. And of course, Tucker had always gloated about it. It may have been a small thing, over cocoa, but that had always been the way in the Wells household. Andrew had always known that they liked Tucker better. It was no secret. Andrew poured himself a mug of the milk and put it into the microwave. All his life he had been a dissappointment to everyone, and his family made that well known. The punishment for the flying monkeys was feirce. His father had nearly beaten him to a bloody pulp while his mother looked on and cried. He was a "loser", a "waste". He'd never amount to anything. A few weeks later his brother sent devil dogs to attack the prom. His father had only sighed and asked him when he would be leaving for college. His mother had gotten drunk and ignored it the way she ignored everything. 

  
Andrew stirred his cocoa in silence, reflecting on his life. He didn't much care for reflection, but somehow his childhood had become easier to face these past few months. Of course, it was always easier to reflect on things that other people had done wrong to him. It was better than the alternative anyway. Andrew shook his head clear of the unpleasant thoughts and raised his mug. He sucked one of the tiny floating marshmallows between his lips and smiled. It tasted better when you used milk. As he moved to close the cabinet he paused, spotting a few stray bags of magical herbs scattered amongst the spices as if they were as commonplace as oregano. He made a mental note of this and shut the door. Though they might prove useful, he had no idea what they were, that had always been Jonathan's thing. Even Warren had a better idea of what they were used for, although he tended more towards using them as intoxicants. Andrew chuckled at the recollection and glanced down into his mug. He gazed into the rich, deep, foamy liquid and felt the steam touch his cheeks, warm his nose. His lips parted slightly as an unexpected surge of emotion shot through him. His hand started to shake uncontrollably and he felt his knees start to give out on him. Andrew released a sob and the mug went crashing to the floor, his trembling fingers no longer able to grasp the ceramic handle. He collapsed in a heap, slicing his knees on the broken mug. Within seconds every teenage girl that had been slumbering in the living room was crowded in the kitchen around him, staring in shock, all waiting for Buffy.

  
"What the hell is going on in here?" Xander grumbled, pushing past the blockade of teengage girls. He spotted Andrew on the floor with wet trails on his cheeks. He stopped short, unsure of how to proceed. He hadn't seen him like this before and he wasn't quite sure how to approach it. Taking a cue from the other's, he simply waited and watched as Andrew deftly wiped the tears away, got to his feet and tore a few paper towels from the roll on the counter. Buffy hurried in as he began mopping up the blood and cocoa.

  
"What's wrong?" Buffy asked urgently before spotting Andrew. She sighed in exasperation and folded her arms across her chest. "All right, Andrew. What happened here? You know, I've had about enough of this. If I didn't think that the First would suck you up and make you his whipping boy again I'd throw you out of my house right now because I'm not going to waste any more time babysitting you." Buffy stood over him, tired and cranky. Andrew refused to look up at her. Xander glanced at the peanut gallery behind him and motioned for them to leave.

  
"Girls, get back in the living room," he whispered to them, "we'll take care of this." The potentials reluctantly shuffled back into the living room. Buffy shifted her weight from one foot to the other and moved her hands to her hips.

  
"Andrew, you'd better come up with an explanation. And I mean now," she demanded. Xander put his hands on Buffy's shoulders, as if to restrain her.

  
"I just slipped, that's all," Andrew muttered, looking up and giving Buffy a half smile. Any signs of his breakdown had vanished. Buffy sighed.

  
"Okay, okay. Just...be more careful. It's bad enough I have to worry about the Ubervamps coming in here and breaking my stuff, I don't need to worry about you doing it too," Buffy said, turning and leaving. The two boys could hear her instruct the girls in the living room to shut up and go back to sleep. Andrew looked up at Xander briefly.

  
"So...she's kinda cranky when she gets up, huh?" He said. Xander frowned.

  
"Uh, look, are you okay? I mean, doesn't the blood usually go on the other side of the skin?" Xander gestured towards the reddish spots on his jeans.

  
"What? Oh, yeah, it's okay. Thanks," Andrew replied. Xander opened his mouth to say something more, and then kneeled down close to Andrew.

  
"Listen," he said seriously, "I don't trust you. You killed your best friend. Now you're in here with blood on your knees screaming and as far as I can tell, kitchen's kind empty of evil that's not you. I know there's something going on even if Buffy can't see it. I'm going to be watching you, and honestly, I hope you really are just incredibly annoying." Xander sighed and looked away for a minute. He looked back at Andrew and met the other boy's gaze. He could see the tears welling up again, waiting for him to leave before they released themselves. Xander tried to figure out what to add to that, wondering if he ought to soften his threat or let it stand. Finally, unable to figure out a reasonable way to deal with the situation, he stood and stormed out. Andrew sniffled and felt another hot tear trickled down his face again as soon as he was alone. Suddenly, he knew. He knew what spell he wanted to cast. It was just a matter of learning how to do it. 

****

So like I said, they say that before you die your life flashes before your eyes. There is some truth to it, but it's not like people make it out to be. See, there's this theory I heard about once, something about living an entire lifetime in your head right before you die. This kid I went to school with tried explaining it to me, but I wasn't really interested. If I'd have paid more attention to him and less to...her...and her magnetic trains maybe I'd have been a little better off. Or at least with more skin. Whatever. I don't really get what the kid was trying to tell me, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with what I went through. It all boils down to lots of reflection. So where to start? Probably the beginning. Well, not really the beginning. I'd argue that the pain and torment went back long before any of what I'm about to tell you happened, but let's face it you're not really interested are you? So we'll start with Andrew. I met Andrew Wells shortly after I moved to Sunnydale. The truth of the matter was that I had met him primarily due to the fact that his brother and I shared a common interest in actively despising 96.4% of the rest of the student body. Tucker was, however...how does one describe Tucker Wells....oh yeah. He was a psychopath. Heh, like I oughta talk, right? Well, back in those days I was still a pretty normal kid. Brilliant, a little bitter, severely anti-social, but normal in that I wasn't running around killing people back then. Tucker, though, didn't have the same kind of restraint. As is evident from the infamous "hellhound" episode. It isn't as if I wasn't secretly cheering him on from the sidelines, but I wasn't about to take part in that kind of stuff. Too fucking hairy for me.

  
So while my only friend was getting his ass beat by the Slayer, I kept his brother company. Andrew. He seemed okay. A little weird, and coming from me, that's saying something. We had the same interests, though, beyond hating other people. We sat together and watched Star Wars and talked about Episode One coming out that summer. We made plans to camp out and see it the day it came out (which turned out to be disasterous, but that's another story). Then he asked if he could invite this kid he knew, Jonathan. 

  
So I met Jonathan. Jonathan was a good kid, but I could understand why he'd been treated the way he had throughout his life. He was an emotional train wreck. It got better though. After a while, and some therapy sessions, he calmed down and we got along pretty well. So Tucker left as soon as school let out to go to college, but I still went to visit Andrew and Jonathan. I have to say, we had some good times. Jonathan and I were off to college in the fall, but the summer was ours. Not in the "taking over Sunnydale" kind of way. The normal teenage "summer after high school" kind of way. 

  
So what was I getting at? Oh yeah. Andrew. 

  
He came over to my house this one time and he was an absolute mess. His lip was split and his face and arms were bruised all to hell. I felt bad, sure, but didn't know how to react to this kinda stuff. I mean, I sort of knew about his whole thing with his father but I really tried to ignore it. After all, I was bitter, I was anti-social. I sure as hell wasn't any teenage boy's shoulder to cry on. Of course, I couldn't exactly turn him away. In spite of myself, I'd gotten attached to the irritating little Ewok.

  
"Hey, what the hell happened to you?" I asked, "you look like you just got into an argument with a Wampa."

  
"What? Oh, no, it's okay," he said, cleaning up his face as best he could. I frowned. There was something seriously not right about this kid. 

  
"Dude, your face. What did you do?" I demanded, getting somewhat irritated with his attempts at covering up the wounds.

  
"Oh, it's just....well, sometimes my dad gets upset. But it's no big deal. Hey, so I just got this movie called "Ringu". It's, um, a Japanese horror movie. I ordered it online, and I thought that we could watch it," Andrew held up a video tape, "I mean, it's not very good quality, but I hear it's pretty scary anyway."

  
"Andrew, listen, I'm only gonna ask this once...are you seriosuly okay?" I asked. That would be the extent of my shoulder crying allowance and if he were willing to let the matter drop, well so was I. The whole idea of having to listen to Andrew's "feelings" was a little too squicky for my tastes.

  
"No, I'm okay. I just wanted to watch a movie," he said, shrugging akwardly. I nodded and waved him to follow me into the basement.

  
"So where's Jonathan? Seems like this is something he'd be interested in," I asked, flopping on the ratty couch in front of the television. Andrew popped the tape in.

  
"Oh, he left to go to to the, uh, Comic-con in San Diego. He's going to be gone all weekend," Andrew replied, pressing play and settling in next to me on the couch.

  
"Man, he went to that? He didn't say anything to me about it!" I moaned. Jonathan was all right, but he really could be an inconsiderate little prick sometimes.

  
"Yeah, me neither," Andrew replied. He looked so pathetic I couldn't help but feel bad for him. His whole life was bruises and blurry fansubs. The strange thing was that the kid seemed more scared of the fansubs than the bruises. I mean, there was one point where poor Andrew was so scared he'd curled himself up into a little ball. I had to turn the movie off. It was one of those times where I wanted to smack Andrew and tell him to get a fucking spine and stop being such a little girl. Of course, I didn't. 

  
"Hey!" Andrew uncurled himself akwardly, "I was just getting into it." I rolled my eyes.

  
"You were just about to piss all over my couch," I replied, "can you handle this, man? Am I gonna have to get you a blankie and a cup of cocoa?" Then he gave me this look. This look that completely and totally exposed his childlike need for affection of any kind. I have to admit, it broke my heart a little. He looked at me, and that look said more than he ever could have managed if he'd actually replied. I didn't let him.

  
"Yeah, well, I could use some cocoa," I lied, "movie's creepy as hell."

  
And I, Warren Mears, went to make Andrew cocoa. Yeah, I know. How fruity can you get? It wasn't that or anything, I just felt bad for the kid. I knew what it was like. Only he seemed to have it even worse than I did. At least my father had the decency to just run out on me and my mom. 

  
"Hey, do you have, um, that mix with the little marshmallows that are already in the package?" He asked, sticking his hands nervously in his pockets.

  
"Uhhh...oh, yeah. Yeah." I waved the package at him, "you, uh, like the little marshmallows?" Andrew smiled shyly and nodded. I started to pour milk into a cup and I saw his eyes light up. I swear, sometimes I was certain this kid was actually five years old.

  
"Yeah, I like them a lot better than the marshmallows that you can buy in the plastic bags. You know, the ones you put in afterwards? Cause those ones that are already in the mix kinda taste like Lucky Charms." I blinked at him a couple times. How weird can one person be anyway? I stuck the cup into the microwave.

  
"You, uh, like Lucky Charms?" I asked, uncertain if that was the correct response to his comment or not.

  
"Yeah," He smiled a little half-smile and shrugged. 

  
"But, aren't Lucky Charms cereal?" I asked.

  
"Well, technically the charms are the marshmallows. You know, hearts, stars, horseshoes...the ceral parts are those little kinda lumpy brown bits. I usually eat them first because then I have the charms all left over and they're the best part," he replied. The microwave beeped, alerting me that it was time to stir the mix in.

  
"Right...I think someone needs to lay off the sugar," I said pointedly, and held the cup of cocoa out to him. He looked at it breifly and suddenly lept at me and hugged me. And he cried. On my shoulder. Good grief.  



End file.
